


A Rose Up From The Dead

by starswholisten



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Mating Bond, Nesta POV, Nesta and Cassian go to the Human Realms to kick some Mortal Queen butt, Post-ACOWAR, The Nesta Spinoff We Deserve, eventual M rating or E or whatever my smut ends up looking like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-12-20 10:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starswholisten/pseuds/starswholisten
Summary: The Mortal Queens are just one of many problems leftover from the war with Hybern. When they start tormenting their own people, blaming random violence and human deaths on the Fae, the issue becomes a priority. But when the Night Court's Emissary to the Human Realms and the General Commander of the Army enter a war zone, are the Mortal Queens the only obstacle they'll have to deal with?Between long-forgotten enemies, a bond between two guarded hearts, and a secret that could change their lives forever - they find more battles waiting for them than they ever expected.A Spinoff to the Court of Thorns and Roses series from Nesta's POV. Nesta/Cassian.





	1. Chapter 1

Nesta ignored the knocking at her door as she stared out at Velaris from her chair by the bedroom window.

She did that a lot these days. The sitting, the staring, the ignoring. It was all she had the energy for this past month. She watched weather patterns change like flipping pages in a novel, taking in every detail of the sky as it changed from blue to grey to pink to black. As of now, the clouds overtook the sky in heavy greys and stormy blacks and turned everything dark hours earlier than expected. All the more excuse to stay here, she figured, to keep to herself and rest or heal or whatever else it was that everyone in the town house assumed she must be doing up here. 

Everyone except the incessant knocker, who apparently didn’t understand the notion of personal space. The knocks became louder, more punctured.

Nesta groaned softly. Every time one of her nosy sisters came around to check on her, to try and force her to do something productive, she’d blow out her candles and pretend to be asleep. They should know by now that she wasn’t going to budge. Usually, Elain would wait patiently, always the more hopeful of her younger sisters, persistent in her ability to rouse Nesta for a meal or a walk. Both sisters had been in this place before, locking themselves away from the world, but they’d both moved past it - and they mistakenly thought it would be just as simple for Nesta.

But it wasn’t. Nesta couldn’t just suddenly find a purpose and move on with her life. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to leave her room. She knew Feyre probably had a number of tasks for her and Elain probably would love the help in the garden, even if it meant Nesta sitting far away from the dirt to keep her company. No, Nesta just didn’t think she deserved to leave. She _couldn’t_. 

She couldn't face this court, the one she was supposed to be a part of now, after everything that had happened in the war. She wasn’t prepared to face the aftermath - to face the death toll, the political aftermath, the consequences of the Cauldron breaking apart. She didn’t want to face her sisters after what had happened to their father. Her fault. _All her fault_. The King had snapped his neck right in front of her eyes and like always she’d done nothing, had left him with no words of gratitude and mixed feelings of remorse and emptiness and the anger, always the anger. And she’d broken, gone cold as ice and still it almost wasn’t enough - and in front of _him_ , too, of all people - she hadn’t been trained and he had _told_ her, _warned_ her to be ready - no, she certainly didn’t want to face _him_ , especially not after-

Nesta took a deep, silent breath, focusing on the darkening of the sky as it began to rain. Pushed the feelings down, deep down, as deep as she could possibly go. It didn’t matter, anyway. Then, she’d had potential. Mostly squandered by her stubbornness and her inexperience, sure, but still it had been there. Now, she’d be useless to them all. They’d find out soon enough, but for now she’d wallow in that knowledge. Alone. As she rightly should.

But at the eleventh knock on her bedroom door, sharp and demanding, Nesta could no longer feign sleep.

“I’m fine, Elain,” she called out haphazardly, shifting in her chair uneasily as a low rumble of thunder sounded outside. A memory of another storm, on a battlefield, a warrior battling in the mud and rain flashed through her mind with the flash of lightening that followed.

Nesta shivered and turned her head away from the window. She hated how Velaris looked beautiful, even when rain pounded down on the rooftops below her balcony. The city always seemed to sparkle, regardless of the weather. All she wanted was to soak in the little bit of miserable empathy the universe was trying to give to her.

But the nuisance at her door knocked again, not allowing her this one thing. _By the Cauldron,_ Nesta thought, then cringed, before standing and trudging toward the door.

Elain would’ve left by now, comforted by the fact Nesta had responded at all. Her youngest sister was another beast. "Feyre, if that’s you, I already told you.” Nesta grabbed hold of the doorknob and violently swung the door open. "I’m not going-“

It wasn’t Feyre. Or Elain.

Though, if Nesta was through lying to herself, she had known that already.

Standing more than a full head taller than her, Cassian leaned against her doorway casually, arms crossed and looking at her like he knew that she hadn’t _truly_ been expecting one of her younger sisters. As if he knew that Nesta had felt his presence - _somehow_ \- the moment he’d turned the corner and made his way toward her room. Had felt every knock like a knife through her chest, every calculated breath of his like a hand to her throat. 

In truth, Nesta had felt Cassian like a constant, dull ache, since they’d returned from war. When she had turned to ascend the stairs and retired to her room indefinitely, she had felt him hesitate - and she had felt his every attempt to approach her room and every time he’d thought twice and turned around. She knew when he was gone and she knew when he was there - she felt him moving, breathing, _alive_.

Blinking once, hard, Nesta re-grounded herself to reality, to frowning at the smirking oversized bat in her doorway, as he asked lightly, “Not going…?” 

He trailed off and raised an eyebrow at her. The one with the scar through it. And it was infuriating, how confidently Cassian stood as he watched her, as if he knew all of the world’s secrets and was just dying for her to ask him what they were.

She would never give him that satisfaction. Especially not now.

Nesta scowled and instead of answering, made to shut the door in his face, but she was halted by a large, Siphon-covered hand effortlessly holding it in place. She caught herself watching that hand, strong and large and warm - _so warm_ , she knew from the few times she’d held it in her own - but blinked and appraised him with a sharp sweep of her glare instead. He was in full training garb - at least his shirt was still on, she noted, sucking at her teeth - and had one of his Illyrian blades strapped to his side. She couldn’t look at the weapon for long and instead roamed his muscular forearms, even more scarred than the last time Cassian spent his days pestering her to come out of her room. Still, they were as much of a weapon as the blade. 

Nesta finished her sweep with a pointed glare at his face. “Move.”

Cassian smirked. He had to know that this would only irritate her further - he was pushing her buttons. Well, they didn’t want to be pushed, especially not by him. She attempted to close the door again to no avail, and of course, Cassian mistakenly took that action to mean he was invited inside. He squeezed past her effortlessly and entered her room, standing to face her as she fumed in the doorway.

Nesta huffed, arms tightening across the bodice of her wine colored dress. “Get out, Cassian.”

“Only if you come with me.”

Nesta’s eyebrows knitted together. “No.” He couldn’t seriously think that she would come out of her room for _him_ , if she wouldn’t even leave when Elain cried for her to join her in the garden.

“Yes,” Cassian combatted. He stepped closer to her, his Siphons flashing in the light. “You have a job to do, Emissary. And it doesn’t entail locking yourself away in a tower for another month.”

So he was going to pull the ‘Commander’ card, then. Fair. She would bite. It’s not like he was anything more to her than her fellow court-member, Commander of Rhysand and Feyre’s armies while she was their Emissary to the Human Realms. Since the war, at least, that’s all they were to each other. Anything else they’d had… well, that was just Nesta’s imagination. 

“And what gives you the authority to make that decision, General?” she asked icily, her self-hatred translating to hatred for him in her tone. He shifted uneasily, wings rustling at his back. Nesta’s eyes flicked to them, to the light patches of color that made up his scars, and the fragile spots where the membrane was thinner, newer, freshly healed. A wave of nausea washed over her. 

“Feyre sent me,” Cassian replied as Nesta fought back the sick feeling in her stomach.

Swallowing hard, she adjusted her posture. Stronger, surer, like iron. She would not break. “At least you’re honest.” A bitter part of her added, “I guess that would be the only reason for you to bother with me. Since you haven’t.”

Cassian grinned, and Nesta instantly knew she’d made a mistake. Her guard was always maleable around him and she cursed herself for it, frustrated, as she stepped forward and around him. She walked until she stood before the window, angled away from Cassian but keeping him in her peripheral vision. Nesta crossed her arms tightly and completely closed herself off, pretending she hadn’t just almost revealed a weakness in front of him. He continued to grin at her, however, and titled his head to watch her, a piece of his inky black hair sliding over his forehead. 

“Miss me, sweetheart?” he purred, coming up behind her. He was still far enough away that when she whirled around, she didn’t ram into his chest, but he was close enough that she could feel his breath and smell his scent - woodsmoke and cloves. 

Nesta held her breath, resisting the urge to lean into it. “In your dreams, general," she grit out as she unraveled her arms to press them to her hips.

Cassian chuckled, and his breath fluttered the hair framing her face. “I did tell you that the next time, I’d come say hello,” he breathed, voice low and deep, so close she could feel it vibrate in her chest. She tried to scoff but it came out rather breathless and she wanted to scream in frustration. 

Instead, Nesta managed a grumbled, “Leave,” and pushed him with both of her hands flat on his muscular chest. But he didn’t even budge. She wasn’t sure if it was his massive stature and strength that held him in place or the impressively feeble shove she’d actually managed to give.

"We've been here before, haven't we?” Cassian mused, breaking eye contact to look down at her hands on his chest. "After Hybern? If I didn't leave you to your misery then, what makes you think I'll leave now?"

She removed her hands as he looked back up, hazel eyes blazing into hers. She glared with all of the fire she could muster. "Things are different."

"How do you suppose that, Nes?"

"Don't-“ she started, but stopped abruptly. _Don’t call me Nes_ , she wanted to say, but it would only make that insufferable grin grow. Cauldron damn this male. Cauldron damn him to whatever hell the Fae believed in. She’d meet him there.

Nesta pressed her lips together, summoning all of her patience. "Hybern is dead," she said instead, stepping back from him, which took more effort than she wanted to admit. "The war is over. So leave me alone.”

She almost thought Cassian had relented as he began shaking his head, eyebrows knit together in frustration. She didn’t care. But as she turned to walk away, he grabbed her wrist - not gently, but not enough to hurt - and spun her back to face him.

"You seem to forget about a certain number of queens that once graced that death list of yours."

Nesta froze. She pondered for a moment, glaring at his irritatingly handsome face, but eventually pried his grip from hers. He was still somehow standing closer to her than he had been before. “Whatever they’re doing, I’m sure Rhys and Feyre can handle it," Nesta snapped, "So if you don’t go, I’ll-"

“You’ll what?” He stepped forward, once, so their chests almost brushed. Nesta fought the color rising in her face. “Make me go, Nesta. Use your powers to force me out.”

Powers. What did he know about her powers? It’s not like she ever had them under control enough to be able to hone them in that way, to blast him backward enough to expel him from her room without killing him. As if she could ever bring herself to hurt him, anyway... not for lack of wanting, but something deep in her gut felt sick at even the thought. It didn't matter - he was baiting her, and she wouldn’t rise to it - and she didn’t even know if she had that kind of power anymore.

Cassian towered over her standing this close, and Nesta found herself remembering another time, another place, another life where they stood this close and she had to angle her head just so to avoid their faces from having no space between them. She did the same now. 

"I've said it before and I'll say it again,” Nesta gritted out, holding her ground, "you can't intimidate me with your hulking size."

Blowing out a breath, Cassian stepped back several paces and ran a hand over his face. Nesta felt the loss of his presence like a kick to the stomach. "I'm not trying to intimidate you, Nesta,” he sighed in frustration. He removed his hand and looked at her. There was pity there and Nesta wanted to simultaneously spit fire and shrink into the ground. "I know it would be futile," he added, and she realized it wasn't pity but... sadness. Longing. A look he'd given her a lot, before. A look she no longer deserved, especially not from him.

She frowned deeper, if that was possible. "Then what do you hope to accomplish here, bat boy?"

He raised that scarred eyebrow and Nesta felt a shiver threatening to surface. "I want you to stop intimidating yourself," Cassian said calmly.

Nesta squinted. "Intimidating myself? That doesn't make any sense-"

"Sure it does," he interjected. "I know you, Nesta-"

"You don't-"

"I do," he said, forcefully enough to communicate that he didn't want her to push the subject. She wisely took the unspoken advice. 

“You need to leave this room. I know you don't like sitting up here. I know you want to be useful and I certainly know you'd burn to ashes whoever ended those queens without first offering you the kill. Rhys and Feyre are handling it, Nesta, but they need help,” Cassian continued carefully. “The queens don’t trust the peace we’ve made. They have been spreading terror with whatever power the Cauldron gave to them, attacking their own people and blaming it on the Fae. People are dying, and the peace is deteriorating as we speak.”

Nesta bristled. Why had no one told her -

“The attacks have been small, too small to reach us until the spies Azriel had left in the Human Realms reported back this morning,” Cassian answered her unasked question. "But they will get worse. Those humans - they need us. And I know you don't think you deserve to take the revenge for yourself, or that you can't, Nesta, but you can. You should."

He didn’t understand. Those people needed safety, a protector - not a monster. Not her.

"You should do it, Cassian,” she choked out. "I wouldn't mind if it was you. You hate them as much as I do, if not more."

"That may be true," he responded, his eyes flicking briefly down the length of her body before coming back up to meet hers. Nesta was surprised that she somehow knew the action was more to assess her well-being than anything else. "But I want to give you the choice, Nesta. What those queens did to you, to Elain-" Cassian clenched his fists. "I want to do whatever it takes to find them for you. But-" he reached for her hand, slowly, and she let him take it before she realized what she was doing. He was as warm as she remembered. "I need your help. You know the Human Realms, you're connected to the queens through the Cauldron. I can't help you get your revenge, or protect those people, unless you're there to help me."

Cassian hadn't needed to give any reasons for needing her help. Nesta read it in his eyes. Saw the image of her throwing herself over his broken body on the battlefield and she knew the real reason he needed her. And while she couldn't force herself to face this new world, she also couldn’t force herself to leave him to do this alone.

Nesta blew out a slow, shaky breath as Cassian’s gaze drifted to his thumb circling on her hand. He seemed to realize what he was doing then and pulled away. Her hand lingered in that spot for a moment before she snatched it back and held it in front of her, tightly, so it would stop shaking. Cassian's eyes met hers in the fading light of the room. 

“I-" she started, hating the way her voice shook. "Cassian, I can’t-"

“Think about it,” he said, though she didn’t miss the wince at those two words - _I can’t_ \- and it made her want to reach for his hand again. She held hers firmly in place. “It’s your choice, as always. I’ll be leaving in three days. If you decide you want to help, you know where to find me until then.”

With a characteristic wink, Cassian turned on his heel and exited the room, wings tucked tight against his back as he left. Nesta stayed rooted to the spot for some time, staring at the door, until another crash of thunder shook her room. She jumped and, wary and tired, slunk back into her chair, feeling more restless than she had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know what you're thinking - why is this girl starting ANOTHER multi-chapter Nessian? But this one is a long time coming, my friends.
> 
> This fic will be my take on the inevitable (please) spinoff we get for Nesta & Cassian. I realize it'll probably be derailed by the ACOTAR novella we get in May but I will finish this long before then. Mark my words. Yell at me in the comments if it takes me too long. I've written too much of this fic already to hold the first chapter hostage any longer!
> 
> As always, love and comments make my day and you all are wonderful. And also as always, this fic title is from a song - Look What You Made Me Do by Taylor Swift. Don't judge, that's a hardcore Nesta Archeron jam.
> 
> I'll shut up now. <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back, enjoy <3

Nesta couldn’t sleep that night. Images of the queens cackling as she was thrown in the Cauldron swam in her dreams, their eager faces and their treacherous, hungry eyes devouring her whole. It had been quite some time since Nesta had these kinds of nightmares - she was getting more accustomed to images of the war haunting her at night.

Like the one she'd had the night before - and for many nights since - of that moment before she killed Hybern. It started the same way it had happened on that battlefield. She dreamt of his intended last words to her, his lips brushing hers, the tear that streaked down her face when she saw the sorrow in his eyes. She dreamt of Hybern's power swirling and that split second decision that if he was going to die... she was going to die with him. Throwing herself on top of him, shielding him. The way his hand had slid over her back and the way she’d felt tears on his own face. How she'd been unable to speak, had only sobbed and nuzzled into his neck, trying to portray how she felt in that moment with actions rather than words. Knowing, deep down, he'd understood. The waiting. The anticipation. And the slice of skin and splatter of blood as Elain sliced through the king with Truth Teller.

The nightmare always changed there. Nesta still stood, beaheaded the king... but no voice called out to her. In the nightmare, she'd turn around once it was done, and none of it would have mattered. Because in that nightmare, Cassian still died. Every time. And Nesta saw the bodies of Cassian and her father, side by side, the only two men she'd ever...

She was almost thankful for the reprieve from that nightmare, if only for a night. Even if it was caused by a very real threat.

Cassian’s visit had reminded her that these queens were still a danger to the humans in the South. The last thing the queens wanted was a unity between the Fae and the humans - something that could potentially strip them of all political power and influence. And while the Fae were fighting a war, Nesta was certain they’d gathered enough of an army to interrupt whatever peace that Rhys and Feyre had managed to set up in the month since Hybern’s fall.

She hadn't thought about it long enough for it to sink in - not before tonight - but Nesta had an additional personal stake in whatever these queens were planning. For as little as the Inner Circle knew about what had become of the queens, they did know one thing - the queens wanted Nesta dead. They hated her for taking something from the Cauldron, for causing it to turn the youngest into a withered crone and robbing the others of their chance at immortality.

Nesta replayed in her mind what the Ravens had told her in the library, that day they had invaded the House of Wind.

_The youngest one … Oh, you should hear how she talks, Nesta Archeron. The things she wants to do to you when Hybern is done…_

Truthfully, Nesta didn’t care about what the young queen could do to her physically. She could handle her. But she did care that these queens were smart - cunning. If they knew Nesta at all, they knew that the greatest way to hurt her would be to go after her sisters. They would know that Nesta wouldn’t be able to live with herself if anything happened to Elain, if she failed to protect Feyre again.

It was about 4am when Nesta realized she had to do something, and that no one else could do it for her. If she didn’t… she shuddered at the memory of Feyre trapped beneath the library as she told Nesta to run, of realizing Elain had been stolen from the war camp, of Cassian crawling toward her on the floor of Hybern’s palace. She crawled out of bed as the sun began to rise, and put on pants for the first time since the war.

——

Cassian was already on the roof when Nesta arrived, sun low in the sky, fog still hanging thick in the air above the mountains. Nesta wrapped a cardigan around her fighting leathers to keep out the early morning chill, but Cassian was impervious to the cold, it seemed - he was already shirtless, sweat dripping down his face as he launched punches into a dummy at high speed.

Nesta watched him from the shadows for a few moments, breathing a little heavier than normal. She was nervous - that was all. Not nervous because of him, no. Those muscular arms and that tattooed chest had no affect on her. At all. She was, rather, nervous that training would bring back painful memories, nervous that she’d lose control and hurt someone, nervous that she’d lose control and absolutely _nothing_ would happen-

“Stretch.” Cassian didn’t even peel his eyes from his target as he addressed her, hadn’t so much as glanced in her direction. How he even knew she was _there_ was a mystery to her. Or so she told herself.

Stepping out from the shadows and into the light, Nesta tightened her crossed arms and scowled. “I have conditions, first, brute.” He merely scoffed, punching the dummy a little harder, a little faster.

Unfazed by his egotistic show of masculinity, Nesta continued walking toward him, slowly, taking in her surroundings. She’d been on the roof many times, sure - she’d had to interrupt Feyre’s training plenty of times, and occasionally found this a pleasant spot to read - but had never so much as stepped foot in the training area. The space was pristine, practical. Weapons lined a short wall on the back of the roof and a small sparring mat lay directly in the center of the roof. Three dummies - one of which Cassian was still pummeling into oblivion - filled the otherwise empty space on the right-hand side of the roof. Nesta walked along the back wall, Cassian’s back to her, admiring the organization of the freshly polished weapons glinting in the sunlight.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me here,” Nesta drawled, running a finger over one of the training knives on the rack. Today was a better day, if she could look at these without breaking into a cold sweat.

“Because I’m not, sweetheart.” He finally stopped punching the gods damned dummy and turned to face her, flipping his sweaty hair dramatically to the side. “I know you can’t resist my charm.”

She rolled her eyes, annoyed with him, annoyed because she wasn’t so sure his statement was untrue. “Do you want to hear my conditions or do you want to hear yourself talk?”

“Your conditions?” he mused, sauntering toward her with a grin that had probably gotten plenty of females to join him in bed. Why did her mind even go there? “If these ‘conditions’ involve sexual favors-“

“Please, shut up while you’re ahead, brute,” Nesta cut him off, shoving his shoulder with a defiant hand as he neared her, though it didn’t do much in the way of moving him. She brushed past him and stood tall - as tall as she could compared to his hulking size - and cleared her throat. 

“I want the queens dead,” she began without preamble, a queen addressing her court. "Their greed… they took everything from my sisters. From me. So I will accompany you to the human realms to find them. But,” Nesta bit out the last word at the hopeful smile that had appeared on his handsome face. She averted her eyes from his and stared a few inches to his right, at a sizable crack in the wall. “I need… I have to go home first. To our village. There are things I need to… settle there, before I can begin any sort of mission.”

When she met Cassian's eyes again, the spark in his gaze had dissipated. He frowned, and Nesta hated it, hated how he _saw_ , how he knew exactly what she was feeling even without her showing any sort of emotion on her face. “That can be arranged,” he offered. And then, “Is your life so awful? Did the queens… the cauldron… did they really take everything from you?”

Nesta paled. She hadn’t been expecting that question. “They took Elain’s happiness,” she replied in a monotone voice. “They separated Feyre and her mate."

“And yet it is only you who is unhappy, now,” Cassian pointed out, crossing his arms. "Why?”

It was a loaded question. Why was she so unhappy? She had so many answers, and yet none, for that question. She knew she was miserable because the war had taken too much from her, and yet that time had given her so much in return - a relationship with Feyre, a home where she felt needed, among other things. But still she felt useless. Still, she felt distanced from those she loved, a burden on their healing, a bruise on their next life. And still, she felt like she couldn’t confide any of this to anyone.

“I’m always unhappy,” she replied instead.

“No, you’re not.”

And still, he saw through her. How did he do that? Nesta became angry then, for some reason, unable to pinpoint exactly why he got under her skin with his ability to siphon emotions out of her that she was incapable of expressing herself. She shook her head, eyes narrowing, a glare that could kill forming on her face - _There's that rage again,_ she thought to herself. _Your best defense mechanism._ “Name one time when you saw me happy, Cassian,” she sneered.

A strange, wistful look that brightened over his face, despite her fury and the fact that he should definitely be afraid of her right now. Instead he looked - entranced. Nesta didn't know what to do with that. But he paid no heed to her angry confusion, reading the ire in her eyes instead as a safe space as he gazed into them. 

“When you’re reading a good book," he said, "sometimes you get this soft, almost-smile on your face that lights up the room. And when you’re in the garden with Elain, listening to her talk about her flowers, you have the same smile." Nesta felt her heart-rate slow, felt her scowl diminish. "Sometimes I even see it when I compliment you," he continued with a smirk, "which explains why you’re doing it right now."

In typical Cassian fashion, nothing was sacred. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nesta interrupted before he could go on. She turned away, praying to whatever gods that she wasn’t blushing. “Are we going to throw some punches, or what? I didn’t come all the way down here this early for chit-chat."

She turned back to look over her shoulder when he didn’t respond, and almost felt her heart sink at the sad smile on Cassian’s face. But she didn’t know why it made her feel like that. 

And as soon as the emotion was there, it was gone again. He crossed his arms in front of him, serious as the commander he was, and nodded. “I’ll need to train you first, you know.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “I know. I’m not dressed like this,” she waved a hand over her body and the leathers she wore, “for your benefit.”

Cassian didn’t have a retort to that, though he did smirk and make a disbelieving “mmhm” sound that set Nesta seething, but he had already turned on his heel to walk to the sparring mat before she could bite back. “Your first lesson,” he began, his tone the epitome of the leader of the fiercest armies in Prythian. He faced her, lip curled in a challenge. “Sparring. No weapons. No magic. Just our bodies.” He winked. “If you can handle that."

She ignored his innuendo to focus her thoughts on the bigger issue - if she could even spar with magic, anyway. But that was a concern for another time.

Nesta smirked. “Bring it on."

And so Cassian spent the next few hours grilling Nesta like a drill sargeant, teaching her various fighting stances and basic defenses before even moving on to sparring techniques for attack. The pair bickered relentlessly as Nesta pushed back against his commands and as Cassian became increasingly annoyed with her failure to comply with basic requests.

“Shoulder-width apart. You’re going to pop your knee if you stand like that,” Cassian growled as Nesta neared him to try and throw a punch, and placed a hand on either thigh to push her legs into the correct position.

She swung wide, clipping him in the shoulder as she backed away. “I’m going to pop _your_ knee if you keep touching me.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Cassian probably hadn’t been expecting her to abandon all pretense of what he was teaching her, which was a mistake on his part, judging by the surprise on his face as she ran at him and barreled directly into him.

Untrained as she was, she still had that unnatural Fae strength, and that coupled with the surprise sent both of them toppling to the ground. Cassian landed with a thud on his back, Nesta falling directly on top of him. He cursed, his wings crumpled behind him, but Nesta persisted, holding him down with every ounce of fury she had.

Nesta was impressed for a moment at her ability to keep the warrior down, but she soon realized that Cassian had stopped fighting. She lifted her head and look at him then, to make a smart remark of some sort, but she bit it back as soon as she saw his face. Cassian looked frozen - like he’d seen a ghost - his eyes glassed over as if lost. That look in his eyes lasted only a moment as they focused on her own gaze. And she understood exactly why he looked like that as she felt his grip ever-so-slightly loosen around her, and she realized how tightly he’d been holding onto her, what he must’ve just relived in that moment.

Because the last time they’d been in this position...

Nesta blinked, breaking the trance, and stood quickly, brushing invisible dirt off of her pants. Her heart was racing and she didn’t need this, didn’t want to relive this, didn’t want to face that moment or the aftermath of it right now or ever. “I think that’s enough training for the day,” she said as she spun around to beeline for the door. She needed air, but her lungs wouldn’t take any.

“Wait, Nesta-“

The hint of panic in his voice made Nesta stop. Her breathing was still uneven, her face likely as red as Cassian’s siphons, but she turned back to face him.

Cassian stood up, slowly, as if afraid any sudden movement might cause him pain, and walked slowly toward her as if approaching a frightened animal. And perhaps that was what Nesta looked like right now, running from something that she could admit really and truly scared her, a conversation that she feared would change everything, no matter how it ended.

They hadn’t talked about that moment between them, though it was all Nesta could seem to think about these days. Of course, there were the nightmares, but this moment played over and over in her head during every waking hour of the day. As much as she tried, she could not forget the words Cassian had confessed, the way he’d given the last of his energy to kiss her - how gentle he’d been. She’d spent an embarrassing amount of time wondering if he would’ve been as gentle had they shared that first kiss under different circumstances. 

Most of all, though, she could not forget her decision to shield him, to protect him, and if that didn’t work - to die with him.

It hadn’t been a hard decision, really. Nesta hadn’t even thought much through it, just knew on instinct that if Cassian was going to die - she was going to go with him.

But after…

She’d shown too much, in the moment she thought they would die. And that terrified her. So she hadn’t visited him on his healing bed, hadn’t so much as seen him since she locked herself in her room. It was for the better. 

And he hadn’t come to her, either.

Nesta wanted to talk about it - and she didn’t. Because she didn’t know if she could show those emotions again, didn’t know if she could verbalize exactly how it made her feel when he came this close, when his hazel eyes pierced hers, when his hand was just a breath from her own. Or even worse… she didn’t know what she would do if those words had been merely… words.

But Cassian seemed to, as always, read this conflict on her face. Standing before her now, he rolled his lips together before speaking. “I want to you know that - that I meant what I said,” he told her. “I meant every word, Nesta."

Nesta swallowed, trying to suppress the urge to flee. It was so easy for him, his emotions so accessible beneath the surface, and yet she was the exact way she had been before the war, before him. Closed off. Cold. Even when she didn’t want to be. Even when it felt wrong to be. 

Wasn’t war supposed to change you? Nesta felt exactly the same, if not a worse version of herself. Surely he saw that?

“I know," she replied hoarsely, unable to say much else. Her hands trembled as she brought them up to grip her elbows, uncomfortable, not knowing where to go from there. Hating the tension, craving it, furious at the way it felt exactly the same as before the war. A declaration like his should change things and yet... they could not break apart that wall between them. It stood tall and strong, tugging them both to the center to meet their hands on the impenetrable glass. Nesta wanted to scream, to let him know she was trying - she was _trying_ , damn it, but it was hard.

"Why doesn’t this feel like the next life?” she whispered.

Cassian moved closer but Nesta froze, and, sensing her discomfort with this entire conversation, he stepped back into place. But his eyes offered the comfort he wanted to provide her - as much comfort as she would allow herself to take from him. “It will,” he answered softly. "It takes time, after a war, but… it will.”

“What if it takes a really long time?” she asked. And then, so quietly she was surprised he could even hear her, "What if it takes forever?”

This time, when Cassian entered her space, taking her hand in his, Nesta didn’t shrink away. “Then I will wait,” he said.

“You shouldn’t-“

“I want to.”

Cassian - he was the type of male that anyone would be lucky to know. That any female would be lucky to love. And yet, he was ready and willing to offer his caring and compassion to her, to someone who could not return it.

He deserved more than this broken version of her. 

Nesta slowly released her hand from his and left the roof, the image of Cassian’s sad, longing frown burned into the back of her mind for the rest of the evening.


	3. Chapter 3

Three days passed quickly, a blur of early morning training, sweat-soaked fighting leathers, and battles of barbed words that left Nesta feeling both physically and mentally exhausted. Every day was the same. Training, hurried meals, then directly to her room to retire by sundown. She saw no one but Cassian - she had the sneaking suspicion he’d warned her sisters to keep their distance for now - and spoke of nothing but battle stances, Illyrian weaponry, and attack combinations.

Neither she nor Cassian brought up their conversation from the first day of training, and Nesta was glad for it. She took extra care to keep herself from falling into another awkward position that would bring on war flashbacks for both of them. If nothing else, it was motivation for her to stay upright during a sparring match.

And it worked. As a result, Nesta improved her skills quickly over the course of the three days, and even Cassian was impressed with how fast she had learned to throw a punch and send a knife spiraling into the heart of a dummy.

Though Nesta was by no means an expert, she was out of time now. She and Cassian would leave for the Mortal Lands today, and would continue her training as they traveled, when they could find the time and a safe space. Cassian had warned her it wouldn’t be often, especially with the heightened fear of Fae magic running rampant past where the wall once stood. But she’d fought in a war untrained, he’d assured her - she could do this.

_Yes, with magic I no longer have_ , she’d thought to herself, after having merely nodded.

Nesta woke at dawn that morning feeling groggy, but not as sore as she had the last few days, and she took that as a blessing in and of itself. Cassian had told her the night before that he would meet her at the townhouse an hour after sunrise, which gave her just enough time to bathe.

Yawning, she padded into her bathing room and began to undress. Nesta was used to doing this alone now. In the first days after being Made, the wraith twins had appeared in the mornings to help her undress and prepare her bath. She’d sent them away every time, rudely enough that now they had simply stopped coming. Elain had needed them more than she had - that had been her excuse. Her sister could barely get out of bed back then, let alone bathe herself. Nesta was fine. Nesta could handle herself. And even though her maids had assisted her when she was still human, untying her corsets and warming her bathwater and detangling her hair, now -

Well, now Nesta didn’t want anyone to bear witness to her cowardice, to how she would rush to the toilet and be sick after submerging even just her feet in the warm water.

Once she was bare, Nesta stepped under the spigot recently installed on the wall and turned the knobs beneath it. A spray of hot water cascaded down on her, feeling more like rain than the Cauldron’s dark depths, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she allowed it to soak her.

Nesta no longer had to face her own demons from the simplest of tasks - the large, iron tub that had been there before was gone now. It had been a lovely, lavish bathtub - luxurious and inviting and so utterly terrifying - but it had been replaced with this shower some time in the days before she’d returned from the war. A small part of her regretted never getting over the fear, never being able to enjoy the simple pleasure that was a hot bath at the end of a long day, but a larger part of her was relieved that her youngest sister had heard her quiet admission and taken care of it.

She realized with no small amount of self-loathing that she hadn’t even thanked Feyre for that bit of kindness.

After washing, Nesta dressed in her Illyrian leathers had begun to brush out her long, golden brown hair when she heard the unmistakeable sound of wings flapping in the wind. Scowling, she turned away from her vanity mirror just in time to see the commander, in all his glory, land dramatically on her balcony with his wings spread wide. He greeted her with a smirk, making a show of keeping eye contact with her as he slowly folded his wings in to his back.

“You’re early,” she said, feigning boredom as she turned back to her mirror to continue with her hair. Cassian stepped into the room, looking out of place against the elegant white chiffon of her curtains, and settled into the chair by her window. He was certainly too large for it, but didn’t let that stop him as he propped his feet up on the windowsill, looking for all the world like he owned it. 

Nesta glared at him through the mirror, but he didn’t meet her eye. His gaze was instead on the back of her head, where her fingers now worked to weave her hair into her signature braided crown. He watched her, transfixed, as she braided the strands together, and she watched him too, wondering just what he was thinking when he looked at her like that. Her fingers must have slowed to a stop, however, because his eyes met hers in the mirror, and she averted her gaze with a light flush on her cheeks.

Clearing his throat, Cassian spoke as if nothing had just passed between them. “We need to fly up to the House for a brief meeting before we leave,” he said. “To go over the plans. Are you ready?”

Tying off the end of her braid, she turned in her chair to face him. He appraised her outfit - the leathers, the dagger strapped to her thigh - his eyes gleaming in approval and something like apprehension, so slight that Nesta knew most of his family wouldn’t have been able to detect it. “What’s wrong?” she asked, appraising him in return.

Cassian sighed, as if knowing she would pick up on his mood. “Just not eager to go back into a potential warzone, is all. Let’s go.”

Nesta knew better than to push him, so she followed him to her bedroom door. As he opened it, she began to hear sleepy voices from the kitchen downstairs. Feyre. Elain. Her sisters whispered morning greetings to one another and began a soft conversation, too quietly for Nesta to hear. After a few moments, Rhysand entered the room, and the voices became more animated, sprinkled with contented laughter and playful banter.

Nesta frowned at the sound of Feyre and Rhysand flirting - at Elain’s muted giggling from where she no doubt was assembling breakfast for them all. She felt the same pit in her stomach that she had that first day back from the war, when the entire Inner Circle had been celebrating together downstairs. She’d heard it all with her impeccable Fae hearing, had tried not to focus on the way Mor’s lilting laughter responded to Cassian’s booming guffaw, they sound of popping bottles and clinking glasses, the peaceful conversation of a family reunited. She’d let it all wash over her like an errant fog and hadn’t realized just how much it affected her until her face was streaked with tears and her room felt a little too cold.

They were all happy. And she wanted them to be happy. In fact, it was what she wanted more than anything. And yet…

Feyre had never needed Nesta for anything. Not for survival, certainly, but not for affection either. But Elain… she had always needed Nesta. And to hear her laughing, happy and content, protected now by so many more… Nesta knew her sister no longer needed her. That, in fact, no one needed her. And to not be needed — Nesta felt no sense of purpose in those moments after the war, felt like a burden existing with a family that wanted only happiness and peace when all she could offer was misery. 

“Nes?"

Cassian had paused outside her doorway, a look of concern now visible on his face, but she merely shrugged and moved past him. He didn’t let her get far, however, and grabbed her gently by the shoulders to turn her to face him. “What is it?”

“Just not eager to leave my sisters,” she replied drily, repeating his earlier words. 

However, instead of refraining from pushing the issue, as she had chosen to do, Cassian met her gaze. “Your sisters will be safe here. But the humans, your people — they are the ones that need your help,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. 

And as much as Nesta hated to admit it, even to herself, he was right. Elain might not need her anymore. Feyre might never have needed her. But the humans - _her people_ Cassian had called them, and they still felt that way to her - they needed her.

Unbidden, a memory of a lifetime ago surfaced in her mind, of an Illyrian warrior promising a human girl to protect her people.

“I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most,” she said softly.

Cassian blinked, but if he was startled at Nesta’s memory of his promise to her so long ago, he didn’t show it. He merely met her steely gaze with a nod, an assurance of the utmost confidence in her words. And that alone was almost enough to convince her that she could actually follow through on that promise.

The voices downstairs suddenly hushed, and Nesta broke their gaze. She turned away and halted at the top of the steps, scenting freshly baked muffins from the kitchen below. Lemon poppyseed - her favorite. The voices remained quiet, waiting —

“We know you’re up there, Nesta. I made you muffins!”

Elain’s voice was strong and joyful, more so than Nesta had heard from her since they were humans, and that alone gave her the strength to descend the stairs and face her sisters for the first time in so many weeks, Cassian close behind her.

Nesta felt immediately out of place in her leathers. Feyre and Rhysand were both in their loungewear - or, what she supposed they had thrown on before coming downstairs this morning - and Elain was already dressed in a simple yellow gown, her hair braided back simply. She was, in fact, standing before the stove, oven mitts on both hands, tending to a tray of freshly baked muffins. She gave Nesta soft smile before setting the tray on the table, removing her mitts, and walking swiftly toward her.

“Nesta!” Her sister’s voice sounded relieved as she embraced her, and Nesta kissed her on the cheek. She had missed her sister, and instantly felt the guilt rising up as she realized how awful it had been to ignore her. And after everything Elain had been through -

But then Feyre was there, and the guilt deeped. She approached Nesta, something desperate in her eyes as she stopped to stand in front of her. Nesta found herself unable to speak, unknowing whether she felt relief or rage of jealousy or contentedness as she looked over Elain’s shoulder and gazed into the blue-grey steel that matched her own eyes. After a moment, Nesta decided she had missed her youngest sister, too. 

Elain stepped aside, and Feyre brought her hands up to Nesta’s arms, hesitating. Nesta thought her sister might embrace her. Her eyes briefly darted to where Cassian stood behind Nesta, grinning at him, and after a beat, she instead slid one arm to intertwine with Nesta’s. Feyre lead her sit at the kitchen table, and Cassian took the chair at the head of the table. 

“How are you?” Feyre asked.

“Fine,” Nesta replied, taking back her arm as she sat and took a muffin from the tray. She didn’t miss the way her younger sister’s eyes flicked to her still damp braid. “The shower this morning was pleasant.” It was the closest Nesta could manage to expressing her gratitude, but she knew Feyre would realize the meaning behind it. 

“Nesta,” Rhysand drawled in greeting, nodding at the length of her, the Illyrian leathers and the braided battle hair, as he sipped from a coffee mug. “Cassian. Why, pray tell, didn’t you use the front door?”

Cassian choked on a muffin, as if he hadn’t suspected Rhys to know he’d entered the townhouse through her window like a thief in the night. She was reminded of a time, long ago, he’d left her room in the Mortal Lands the same way. Once he recovered, Cassian chuckled, his eyes bright as he assessed his brother. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, Nesta likes when I come say hello to her first.”

Nesta could sense Feyre on the other side of her, watching both her and Cassian like a hawk, eyes bulging out of her head slightly as she gauged her reaction. As if she expected something - as if she knew something she shouldn’t. Nesta wrote it off to the usual way she gave their interactions special attention.

Chewing slowly and savoring the taste of lemon in her mouth, Nesta took her time before she responded. She decided to ignore him altogether. “Are we going to the House of Wind to go over the plan, or am I just to extract it from the brute who flies like a moth to the light to the only lit up bedroom in the house?”

Rhys snapped his fingers, his comfortable attire replaced with his traditional black ensemble. Feyre and Cassian both rolled their eyes and Elain stifled a laugh behind her head. “We can go whenever you’re ready, Nesta.” he drawled, ignoring them all.

“Drama queen,” Cassian grumbled, licking the muffin crumbs from his fingers. Feyre’s eyes instantly darted to Nesta’s, and she returned her sister’s gaze with a glare. Meddlesome sister. Nesta was beginning to think she was sending them on this mission for her own ulterior motives.

“I’m flying with Rhys,” was all she said as she stood from the table.


End file.
